The Truth About Sherlock
by RoseBudInk
Summary: The First time John started to suspect that Sherlock was not entirely human was when the numbers started. ( this story has nothing to do with vampires or werewolves so you can breath easy)
1. Chapter 1

**The Truth About Sherlock**

**Chapter one: Numbers**

**summery:The first time John started to suspect that Sherlock was not entirely human was when the numbers started.**

* * *

It was a week after their second case together. And even though running from a Chinese smuggling group was exciting, they both agreed that a short break from adventure would be best. John knew that a " short break" in Sherlock terms was maybe a little over a few seconds. This is why he was not surprised when coming home from work he found new case files on the kitchen table, and Sherlock's long coat and scarf gone from their coat rack.

John gave a little sigh as he went to go make tea. He did this sometimes; disappear at random times and then reappears right as John needs him. He knew that the only consulting detective in the world would not be back until early morning. He just wished he would get some sleep. It was really a genetic breakthrough, how the man can chase down criminals for hours, and then have no need for sleep or food, he isn't even winded.

Now that John thought about it did he ever see him eat or drink ounce? Whenever they went to a restaurant Sherlock just sat there not ordering anything including water. When asked about it he would always mutter about 'being to busy to be hungry', or how ' food slows down his brain.' He said this while eagerly looking out the window or making deductions about everyone in the room.

Sherlock claimed he ate, he just happened to do it when John wasn't looking. Food did disappear from the fridge regularly, but it could easily have been used for his many experiments. Currently he was into growing large quantities of bacteria with milk, explaining why they need new cartons so frequently. Once John caught Sherlock throwing away the tea he made for him. At first he was offended by the man's overly high standers of tea, but then chose to forget about it. If he took everything that Sherlock does personally, he would have left the flat long ago.

John settled in with his cup of tea and watched the news. He wasn't really paying attention to it; his mind was busy wondering what Sherlock was up to. He wasn't worried, he was just curious.

The next morning John woke up at 9;00 A.M. Thank god it was Saturday, or he would be scrambling out the door late for work. He groggily walked out of his bedroom into the living room, and there he was just as John imagined it, Sherlock Holmes, sprawled over the couch, reading a newspaper.

"Good morning" John said with mild enthusiasm.

Sherlock grunted in response, not looking up from his reading. John made himself some coffee before sitting down in his usual chair. What he wanted to ask Sherlock was about his whereabouts last night, but from experience he knew he would never get a clear answer, so instead he asked

" Do you know why my alarm clock didn't turn on today?"

Sherlock, still engrossed in the article responded

" I unplugged it when I got home. Honestly John you should not live on work hours in your free time. It's unhealthy."

John tried and failed to stifle a snort.

" Says the man who wonders the streets of London all night."

"I did sleep some before you woke up" Sherlock said with a board tone. "Oh… and I should mention that I've eaten breakfast too before you start shoveling food down my throat."

John shook his head, deciding to leave it be for now. That was when he saw something quite odd. One of Sherlock's suit sleeves was rolled up some to reveal the number one on the underside of his right wrist. John tried to get a closer look without being conspicuous. The number was decent sized and block lettered in jet-black ink. It looked permanent like a tattoo. If Sherlock took up the hobby of getting tattoos in the dead of night, John wouldn't know what to do. But it didn't seem new. There was no sigh of redness or bruising.

"Sherlock…" John asked tenderly. "Why is there suddenly a tattoo of the number one on your wrist."

Sherlock finally put his paper down to stare at him. John caught a gleam of dread and worry in his eyes before the same mask he wore to get witnesses to talk when over his face.

"What do you mean by suddenly?"

John blinked with surprise

" I mean that you never had it until today."

Sherlock gave him a look with his left eyebrow up.

" I've always had it John, I thought your ability to see detail was higher then most, but apparently that's not the case."

John looked at him mouth agape. There was no way he would not see it until now. It was so obvious. The first time he would have saw it was the first time he met Sherlock. When he gave him his phone. But in was not there, it never was, until today.

His eyes narrowed as he sipped his coffee in contemplation. Maybe this was some kind psychology experiment Sherlock was doing. John decided to play his game for now, so he can learn more.

" So way did you get it, the tattoo I mean?"

Sherlock gave a huff before replying

" Don't you think that is somewhat personal question?"

John replied with some rage

" You can see a persons who life story with just looking at them. I don't think you deserve not to answer personal questions, because you have no need to ask them."

Sherlock got up with a sigh, slapping his newspaper down on the table. He calmly walked over the coat wrack to collect his coat and scarf.

" When you feel like being helpful come to the yard, they said they will call if they get any new cases, but I think they're hiding some from me."

" But weren't you just…" john started but then saw there were no longer any case files on the table.

The door slammed shut leaving John alone. He sat there stunned, trying to work his brain around what just happened. He got up to see what Sherlock was reading. It was a tabloid, something Sherlock would normally consider trivial and not worth his time. The headline screamed in large arrogant letters. _Ten-year-old girl claims to be possessed and forced to committee crimes._

John squinted down at the article and tried to put the peaces together. Sherlock's increasing night runs, the strange number on his wrist, his sudden interest in obviously made up news. John didn't have a clue what it all meant, but that is why Sherlock was the detective and he was the blogger. All John knew was right when he thought he had Sherlock figured out he just had to get a whole lot weirder

* * *

**Hi guys **

**OK so before you start yelling at me, I know I'm also working on my Doctor Who fic 'When Worlds Clash' and should probably have worked on that instead, but this idea has been rolling around in my head all yesterday, and then it was midnight. this story would not let me sleep until I wrote some of it down. I told my self "OK just one paragraph and then you can sleep... well it turned into three pages and now here we are. **

** New chapters for both stories are on the way, but I probably will update this one more frequently because I have more inspiration for it.**

**Anyway... drama aside... please give a review, tell me what you think! THANKS!**

**RoseBudInk**

**P.S I'm serious about this NOT being about vampires of were-wolves, the Twilight era is over I say OVER MUHAHAHAHAHA! sorry :) **


	2. Chapter 2

The Truth About Sherlock

Chapter two: Dead-end alleyways and other strange things

* * *

John tried to forget about it. The strange number that appeared from seemingly nowhere on his friends wrist. But it kept entering his mind. It was always there, glaring back at him whenever he handed Sherlock something. An unwelcome presents trying to split the two of them apart.

John knew this was a silly notion, the ink number was not evil or even menacing, it was just strange, that's all. It kind of suited Sherlock to have it, considering that he specializes in strange things. John just wanted to know why it was there, and why Sherlock was lying to him.

The first person he mentioned it to was Mycroft. A secretary answered the phone. She made it very clear that John needed an appointment no matter his business, but when she heard that the topic was on the younger Holmes brother, Mycroft himself was soon on the line.

John told him about Sherlock's late night absence and the possible tattoo. Mycroft listened in silence until John finished, and then he spoke.

" I understand why you are worried about Sherlock's wandering off at unseemly hours of night, doing who knows what, I am too. But I believe you are mistaken about one thing. Sherlock has had the Tattoo of a one for years now" He gave a small snort. " You can imagine the reaction mummy had when she heard the news… not pretty."

John tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"Mycroft… I don't know why you're lying to me, but I can say with one hundred percent certainty that that Tattoo was not there until Sherlock got home two nights ago."

Mycroft gave a disappointed sigh. "I truly thought you were above average when it came to noticing things. Apparently that's not true, how else could you miss such an important detail."

The line went dead.

John also spoke with Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. All of them said that Sherlock had the tattoo for as long as they knew him. Now he was starting to doubt his memory. Maybe it has always been there and for whatever reason he didn't see it until now. Either way it wasn't like the inked number one was causing any harm. It hadn't changed Sherlock's personality or intelligence. He just happened to have a one on his wrist now, that's all. Because of this John decided to ignore it for now and keep an eye out for any changes.

There was…

A week after the number first appeared, something even more odd happened. It was early morning after another one of Sherlock's night absences. He was working on an experiment, sitting at the partly ruined table looking through his microscope. John walked passed him and caught a glimpse of the same wrist again, but this time the number one was gone and in its place was the number two. John was so surprised at this that he almost dropped his tea mug. It was in the same block letter style, the same black ink, but now it's one number up from the last.

"Sherlock", John nervously started. " What happened to the number one?"

Sherlock raised his head to see him; he had a genuinely confused expression on his face

" What do you mean?"

"Well… you had the number one on you're wrist before, but now it's the number two."

Sherlock looked down at his wrist to clarify what John was saying, then he looked back up.

" I have never had a tattoo of a one before, John, it has always been a two."

John walked away from the room and headed towards the stairs, muttering something about getting groceries. He needed to get some clear air. He needed to think.

He contacted everyone again, and they all told him that Sherlock has always had a two and never a one. John thought that he was going insane, or that everyone he knew was keeping the truth away from him. Either way he didn't like it.

The very next day, a three replaced the two. John didn't even bother mentioning it this time. He knew Sherlock would deny the existence of the passed two numbers. Instead he focused on what to do long term. The numbers were climbing, that much was certain. But how far will they go. Fifty?, one hundred?, one thousand?, one million?

John finally decided to wait and see if the numbers go into double digest. Maybe they will stop at nine, maybe they won't. If the numbers do get to ten, John will worry about them again. He will not just ask this time, he will demand. When they do get to ten he will not rest until he gets to the truth.

A new number appeared every few days or so. Always in order. John noticed that after every number Sherlock would do something out of the ordinary, even for him.

0X0

The Number four was followed by a case involving a chemical waste plant. Although the crime seen was inside, no one could enter safely without proper gear. John was getting into a hazmat suit as Sherlock walked towards the lethal waste. Some how he got past main security

"Sherlock!" John frantically called out to him, " You can't go yet the radiation is at deadly levels"

Sherlock, still making progress towards the building called back over his shoulder.

" Don't worry John it can't hurt me, I'll meet you inside when you're ready."

Suddenly he froze and turned on his heels to face the rest of the team. A look of remembering something crossed his face as he shook his head.

" What am I thinking, of course it will hurt me, didn't know what came over me."

He walked back towards John, as a hazarded personal trusted a hazmat suit to him. Sherlock looked at the suit in contemplation.

" You know… this case is not as interesting as I originally expected. Come-on John, we're going home"

Both John and Sherlock didn't mention the case again.

0X0

Number five was followed by a chase through the alleyways of London. Sherlock and John were both running after an escaped prisoner and John was excused. Sherlock noticed his friend's difficulties and stopped in his tracks.

"No" John managed the huff. " He's getting away, I can continue"

"You can't" Sherlock protested. " You'll faint at this rate and we can't let that happen on the job."

He surveyed his surroundings, and found what he was looking for with a smile.

" I know a short cut, you stay here and rest." He then took a sharp left down one of the many alleys"

Despite the dots that were starting to intrude Johns Vision, he followed the detective. He found Sherlock running at top speed towards a brick wall that was obviously a dead-end. John's shout was the only thing to stop him. Sherlock angrily turned around just half a meter away from the wall.

" I told you to stay there!"

Sherlock mobile rang and he answered. A minute later he hung up and said, " it's to late we already lost him"

" Were you actually planning on running into that wall?"

Sherlock looked down almost embarrassed.

"Of course not."

0X0

The number six was followed by fake memories. They were both in the flat after a long day. Sherlock was standing at the back wall, having an evidence map in front of him. Pieces of string connected the various pictures and facts. John was close by writing his most current blog entry. He didn't include anything about the numbers.

The TV was also on providing much needed background noise. Suddenly the historical documentary caught Sherlock's attention. He saw the first peace of film ever recorded with a nostalgic smile.

He said more to himself then to John, "I remember when film was invented. I thought it was an extraordinary scientific break through, to bad it was used for mindless silent features" He rolled his eyes.

John looked over to him with an odd expression. " You talk about it like you were there."

" I wasn't!" he said a bit to fast. " I wasn't" he looked back at the map.

0X0

The number seven was followed by electrical issues. Sherlock was particularly frustrated by a certain case. Nothing was adding up and the police were acting stupider then usual. Finally Sherlock's anger seemed to manifest in a most mysterious way. All the lights and electronics in the 221 flats turned on at once and flickered before turning of with a pop.

John heard Mrs. Hudson's 'oh my's' from the flat above. He stumbled around the now dark flat trying the find the source of the power shortage.

"Sherlock did you do that?"

He heard the low reply from a meter away.

"Maybe"

0X0

The number eight was followed by an unseen acquaintance. Sherlock and John were on yet another murder case. There was nothing different or even unusual about it. A twenty year old women named marry Wildwood was shot in the head around midnight and was found by a passer by in the morning. The only difference in this seen that was not in others was how Sherlock was acting. He didn't seem to pay attention to the case at all. Instead he was looking off into the distance for long periods of time, talking to himself. At one point he excused himself to go talk to what appeared to be a wall. Everyone kept his or her distance including John. He couldn't make out much from the one-sided conversation, but he did know one thing.

He had seen Sherlock talk to himself dozens of times before, and this is not what it looked like. He obviously sees something nobody else can, as usual but this time he's talking to it. Sherlock used a calm hushed tone, which was unusual enough but he also had genuine sympathy in his eyes, which honestly through off John more then it should

On the cab ride back to the flat they were both in silence. That was until John finally gave into the fact that something he could not understand was going on.

"Sherlock who were you talking to?"

The detective looked back at him with sad eyes.

"No one"

0X0

The number nine was fallowed by almost unbelievable powers. John woke up in the middle of the night by recurring war nightmares. This has been happening ever since the numbers started. Possibly because he no longer trusted the person that keeps them at bay.

With a yawn he got up to get a glass of water and found to his surprise that Sherlock has returned early from his night run. He was lying on the couch, fiddling with a Rubix cube. This would be completely normal if the cube was not hovering half a meter in the air above him. It looked like it took a great amount of concentration to keep the toy aloft and even greater to twist the sections with out touching it.

John's foot accidentally hit the doorframe; the noise resulted in Sherlock's concentration to be broken. He gave a mild curse as the cube fell to the floor.

John basically ran back to his room before Sherlock could notice his presents. Sherlock's overly reckless behavior was worrisome, his acting like he was from a different time period was creepy, and his ability to interact with lights and see things that aren't there is unsettling, but floating objects is just terrifying.

This was the last straw. There is no way John is going to live with this mystery any longer. If Sherlock grows anymore powerful he will not only hurt other people, but also himself. He doesn't care if the number is not at ten yet; it's time to get to the bottom of this

It's time to find the truth about Sherlock.

* * *

**Hi guys! **

**Thank you to everyone who has followed and left reviews. I'm hoping on getting new reviews and followers too. **

**I wonder if any of you know what Sherlock is from the clues I gave you. All will be revealed in the next chapter, so tell me what you think now!**

**please leave a review! **

**in other news I got a tumblr. My blog is .com there you will find anything nerdy! **

**thanks again please review! :) **

**love... RoseBudInk**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi everyone! thanks to all you lovely people who gave amazing reviews and such! and special thanks to I'm Nova who tried to guess what Sherlock is in there review. Don't worry Nova love, using the internet is not cheating ;) to be honest I never even heard of The Tomorrow People, but I enjoyed reading the Wiki article. So in short THANKS FOR GUESSING! Well... with out further adieu, on with the show!**

* * *

_**The Truth About Sherlock**_

_**Chapter three: Unlikely lies**_

A new number appears when ever Sherlock goes out at night alone, so it's logical to say that John needs to secretly follow him the next time he does. This, on the other hand, is easier said then done. Out of everyone John knows, Sherlock has the most refined senses and can always tell if he's being stocked, this is including John's army buddies.

Although difficult, he could not think of another way, and so John lay in his bed listening for activity on this particular night. Sherlock was playing his violin in the living room, like most nights while on a troubling case. Suddenly the music (or at least what passed for it) stopped and the sound of footsteps followed.

John waited to hear the door close before he jumped out of bed and hurriedly got dressed for the cold night. He watched his breath react and turn into steam as he closed the black door behind him. Looking up and down the street he saw a long coated shadow to his right. John silently followed.

He was suspecting Sherlock to hail a cab once he was a decent distance from the flat, but he kept walking at a brisk pace, which showed he had a distinct destination in mind. And so John followed the odd and rebellious flat mate through the streets of London like a wisp of smoke.

They finally stopped after an hour of walking. It took John a moment to realize were he was, and then it occurred to him, the crime seen of Marry Wildwood. Sherlock stepped forward to the same wall as last time and continued to talk to it. John hid around one of the corners in the distant alleyway and tried to make out the words, and also as last time, he couldn't. Something was itching the back of his mind, something that felt wrong. Then it hit him. The night was very cold, causing John's breath to tern into steam and to twirl and twist in the air. No such effect was happening to Sherlock, almost as if he was not breathing.

Finally the mysterious conversation paused as Sherlock pulled something from the long folds of his coat. It looked like a case file. He opened it and showed it to the empty space as he explained the details, pointing to a specific picture or sentence every once and awhile.

He snapped it closed while saying a few things to wrap it up. Then with a kind smile he looked at the invisible person and whispered a farewell. Suddenly a wild wind swept through the ally, making Sherlock's hair and coat wave too and fro, somehow the wind did not seem to affect John at all. The detective looked up at the sky with awe and a tad bit of jealousy. John looked up at the same spot but saw nothing. When the wind stopped Sherlock looked down at his wrist expectantly. With a small flash of light the Number nine was replaced by a ten.

Sherlock looking satisfied, rolled down his sleeve, put the file back in his coat, before turning around on his heal to head home. Instead he found a shocked, terrified doctor in his path. John had completely forgotten about the secret part of his mission and now was gaping at his friend who has just done seemingly magical things.

Sherlock stared back at him with a mixed look of surprise, worry and denial on his face.

"John?"

The other man took a few steps back with fear and anger creeping into his voice.

" What the hell are you?"

Sherlock, seeing his friends fear held both his hands up in the most non-threatening way possible.

" John I'm not going to hurt you, the last thing I want to do is hurt you."

John backed up a bit more, his mind reeling, trying to make sense.

" I always knew you weren't normal. How could you be if you can see everything, know everything from the smallest details? But this… this is too much. The numbers, talking to people who aren't there, making objects float with your mind. On the first day we met… you told me that my life would be dangerous around you, but this Sherlock… I did not sign up for this!

Sherlock looked at him with apologetic eyes.

" If I could have told you earlier I would have, but you would have never believed me let alone agreed to live with me. I wish by biggest faults are playing the violin at odd hours and not talking for days on end, but that in not the case." He gave a sigh. " I knew you would find out at some point, you're not an idiot like everyone else in the world, I was just expecting for more time. I'll tell you everything, just ask and I will answer everything."

John still not believing his situation took a deep breath.

" Well… First of … who were you talking to?"

Sherlock answered calmly.

" A ghost."

" A what?"

"A ghost…. spirit, specter, spook, the wandering undead, whatever you prefer."

John looked at him with disbelief.

" Sherlock that's ridicules."

The detective leaned over his friend and said with his lowest most sincere voice

" It is the truth."

John knew that he was not lying. Sherlock can manipulate people, tell them fabrications to get what he wants, but he would never go as far as saying a supernatural creature was real. It would leave all of his scientific reason in the dust. If Sherlock Holmes said ghosts were real, they were defiantly real.

John tried to think what this meant for the world. In less then a minute everything he believed in was shattered. Did this mean there were ghosts around when John was in Afghanistan, does this mean they are watching him now, the people he could not save.

He shook his head and tried to concentrate on one thing at a time.

" O.k.… lets say I believed you just for now… who were they exactly?"

Sherlock gave a relived smile. He was surprised that John trusted him with no evidence, but he didn't force the point.

"Marry Wildwood, the women who's crime seen we were investigating a few days ago. Usually I don't see them at crime seens, because they tend to wonder, never staying in one place for long. Marry on the other hand did stay, because she was confused, scared and alone. Luckily for her someone who could see her investigated the case, unluckily for her, I couldn't talk for long, I already get to many weird looks as it is. I decided to wait for the case to be officially solved. Then I stole the file, brought it here, and explained to her who killed her and why, after she knew that she was able move on to Nirvana or wherever the hell dead people are suppose to go." He rolled his eyes, showing that he does not completely buy it either. " Anyway… that's what you witnessed."

"John nodded slowly, taking in the information.

" But the numbers, what are they all about."

Sherlock rolled up his sleeve to inspect the ten.

" To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. All I know is that a new one appears whenever I help a ghost move on. is my 10th. Rumors have been spreading lately, saying that if I make it all the way to one hundred, I might move on too."

John gave a confused look

"What?"

Sherlock sighed.

" I was dreading the day I have to tell you this but… here we go. John… I'm a ghost too.

"WHAT?"

He practically screamed.

" Bu… but, that's impossible I can see you… everyone can see you."

"That's because I've been around for nearly one hundred and twenty-one years. I have mastered the skill of manifestation to the point were I can appear completely solid for long amounts of time. I can fool people into thinking that I'm still alive. Mycroft thinks I'm the most powerful ghost that ever existed. I don't think he's far off."

John shifted into full on denial mode.

" But that's not…. no…. you can't be!"

" John, think really logically, think for a moment, you have never seen me eat, drink, or sleep before, this is because I don't need too. Do you remember the Blind Banker case? You found the wall of code, and I tried to get you to remember it. I forgot that picture phones existed, because this is not my native time period. I was born in 1854 and died in 1890 at the age of thirty-six. It sounds bizarre I know, but It's all real, I promise you."

An unexplainable rage built up inside John. A mixture of confusion, disbelief, and anger wanting to spill out.

"If this is really happening, show me…show me what you really look like."

Sherlock furrowed his brow in concentration.

" I haven't done this in a while, so give me a minute"

He closed his eyes and in a few seconds and vanished.

John looked around him wildly; His best friend just disappeared into thin air.

"John"

He heard the familiar voice behind him. John turned around to meet Sherlock.

He looked exactly the same, same face structure, same eyes, same hair, same clothes. The only thing that was different was the fact that now he was semi transparent. John could see the out stretched ally through him. He looked at the detective with awe, and unconsciously reached out for him. Sherlock did the same and there hands met in the middle. John's hand fell through.

At this moment everything came into focus for him. He believed everything Sherlock told him, and for some reason felt like he needed to cry.

Sherlock saw the tear at the corner of his eye. He rolled his eyes and whispered to himself " sentiment" Before saying.

"John I'm touched but I don't need your pity. I've been this way for over a hundred years, I'm fine. If this didn't happen I would not be able to experience this age of technology or meet you. So really it's a good thing."

John wiped his eyes with a small laugh.

"I know, It's a lot to take in that's all. But I still don't understand everything. If you're from the Victorian era why do you have modern cloths? Who is Mycroft really? And why in the world do you still use nicotine patches?

"I'll explain everything, but first we should go back to the flat, the whether is not doing you well."

John didn't notice until now, but both his fingers and toes are numb, and he had spontaneous breakouts in violent shivers.

" That sounds like a good idea."

Sherlock smiled.

" I hope you don't mind me being in my transparent state for a while, I've been in my solid state nonstop for five weeks and I need a break. I also need to get some research material so I won't be back for a few hours."

" What do you need it for?"

"There was a John Hamish Watson in my time period too, some how history is repeating, and I am going too find out why."

With that, Sherlock the ghost disappeared through a wall, leaving John the human standing alone with the breeze whispering things into his ears.

* * *

**Sorry for the slight Sherlock OOC and the rushed ending, but I need to explain a lot for the next chapter to happen. **

**Anyway... the mystery is solved... kinda. Do you think the ghost thing is cool or stupid. either-way let me know in your reviews! **

** Next chapter will be out soonish. PEACE!**

** RoseBudInk**


	4. Chapter 4

**HI! **

**sorry for the lateishness. I have life. **

**also a quick disclaimer: I have not read any of the original Sherlock Holmes books. Any thing I know about the book series is second hand, and this means that there might be some mistakes when it comes to cannon. PLEASE DON'T HATE ME! **

**I have watched all the BBC Sherlock episodes like 5 times each, so I'm not completely in the dark.**

**anyway... enjoy the show! :D**

* * *

**The Truth About Sherlock**

**Chapter four: Flashbacks and photographs**

**1890**

At first there was nothing.

Not darkness because that would be something, but this was an undesirable, incomprehensible nothing. He did not exist, he never did and never will, nothing ever existed, and this was a feeling that even to this day, he can never fully explain.

Just how unbelievably terrifying the idea of nothing is.

And then finally, after an eternity (or at least what felt like it, because in the nothingness there is no time) sound returned. It was muffled at first, but slowly it turned crystal clear and much better then he remembered. He heard rain hitting the cobblestones and the near by river gently lapping over the edge from the resent precipitation.

It sounded cold. But for whatever reason he couldn't feel it. And now that he thought about it, he couldn't feel his body, he had no idea were he was. And no memory of how he got there. What a funny notion, Sherlock Holmes being lost, that would never happen. Then memories started to fill his mind, like an over due flood.

A waterfall. Moriarty. Coldness. Wetness. Falling. Nothingness.

Instantly the severity of what happened hit him and his eyes flew open to meet the familiar grey London sky. He now knew that he washed up not far away from the river and was now lying on his back watching the light rain fall on him.

But he still couldn't feel anything, which was quite the deal more frightening then feeling any amount of pain. This probably means that his nervous system was ruined, maybe he could never move again.

Experimentally he moved his head to the left and was relieved to find that his arm seemed perfectly unharmed, but he was confused by the fact that in was slightly transparent. Tall tales of spirits reluctantly started to fill his mind. He initially shoved them aside but did not entirely discount them yet

Suddenly he realized that he has not taken a breath of air yet and felt completely fine. He tried to breath in and was met with an extraordinarily uncomfortable sensation. His lungs felt heavy and full. It made him sick. It felt wrong, like they were occupied by some kind of unwanted substance. Water perhaps? Then it hit him.

"Oh god… I'm dead. I must have drowned after the fall… and now I am dead." This seemed like an unbelievable thing to his scientific mind, but all the evidence seemed to point that way, and new discoveries are made every day, as he always said, When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

After this fact was made clear to him one thing popped into his head.

John.

It was interesting how Dr. Watson's Christen name was the one he thought of, but was hardly important giving the situation he was in.

Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes and mentally promised his colleague and companion that he will find him before he let his depression envelop him. Just like the river that claimed his life.

* * *

**Present day.**

"I hate the rain." Sherlock said with a heavy sigh as he stepped into his flat.

John had returned three hours earlier just before the rain started. Really it was cold enough for it to snow, but London weather never makes sense. As soon John stepped in, he made himself some tea, wrapped him self in a blanket and sat up right staring at the door.

He didn't know what to do. Didn't know what the think or feel. It was not everyday that your roommate emitted that they are really a ghost from the Victorian era. He doesn't even know if he fully believes it yet. Sherlock has always been fond of pranks just to show the world how clever he is. But this seems too far even for Sherlock.

John was just glad to be back. He has fallen in love with the small flat and everything feels so real here. No spirits real or fake will get in tonight.

He was just about to nod off when Sherlock barged in with his comment on the whether. He was expecting him to be well… ghosty, but Sherlock looked whole and alive as ever. His coat pulled tightly around him to keep out the wet and cold, and his raven curls hanging in his eyes from the heavy water. He shuffled to the makeshift kitchen lab, looking more pissed at the world then usual.

"Um… Sherlock?" John asked nervously. " I wasn't imagining anything right? All those things happened tonight. What you said was true?"

Sherlock for maximum efficiency answered all his questions with one word.

"Yes"

John took a deep breath.

" So why aren't you… you know… all see-throughy?"

Sherlock opened his coat to reveal a small pile of ancient books that look like they will fall apart at any moment.

" Some of these books are over a hundred and fifty years old. If I got them wet, Mycroft would hire a paranormalogist to find a way to kill me again."

He placed the books on the table.

"But now you mention it…"

Sherlock closed his eyes and suddenly became transparent with a faint glow, The water that was on Sherlock had no other place to go, so in fell, causing a small puddle the spread across the floor.

If John was used to living with a ghost who was pretending to be human, he would scold Sherlock for the mess, but instead he stared at him wide-eyed and a little afraid.

Sherlock looked over at his friend. He knew he had broken there strong bound of trust, and possibly will never fully get it back. But what else was he supposed to do. John would have started to notice things, like the fact the Sherlock never ages, and that was if he didn't mess up and revile his true form sooner. It was better this way. He was prepared.

He picked up the biggest book he brought. John noticed that Sherlock's hand glowed brighter then the rest of him. This was possibly an influx of energy to keep the object aloft. He handed the book to john and said.

" Pictures of me start in the middle."

The title was 'The Holmes family photo album'

He opened the leather-bound album to the middle and was startled by what he found. The picture was black and white and a bit grainy. It showed two men in their early thirties standing outside of 221 Baker Street of all places. The man to the left seemed nice and welcoming despite his straight face. He was shorter then his companion, and had sand colored hair with a matching mustache. He appeared to be a professional with well-made expensive clothing and a modest walking stick.

The man to the right was a good deal taller and also had a straight face. His clothes were made of a somewhat cheaper material, not because he couldn't afford them, but because he was not overly interested in what people thought of him. He had a twinkle in his eye of excitement. If it was not for the ungodly long time it took to take a picture back then he would be smiling from ear to ear. There was one other thing about the man on the right.

He looked exactly like Sherlock Holmes.

Not in the ' oh you do look a lot like your grate grandfather in his youth' kind of way, but in the 'these two people can be identical twins or clones' kind of way. Or in this case the exact same person.

John looked up at Sherlock who was still on the other side of the room, so as to not frighten him.

"So… this is you."

Sherlock nodded

" And this is the other John Watson."

Sherlock nodded again.

John sighed. There was no way a prank could be this complex, and if it was he might as well just go along for the ride.

He flipped through the other pictures. Most were of Sherlock and Victorian John standing in front of a vast variety of crime scenes, but a few pictures took his interest. One was Sherlock with a man that looks surprisingly like Mycroft, but a bit fatter. Sherlock told him that he was his real brother, Mycroft Holmes the first. The one John knows is Mycroft Holmes the third. Technically Sherlock is this eras Mycroft's grate grate grand uncle

" It's a miracle that the man was able to have a heir." He said with an eye roll.

The other picture was one attached to a news article. It showed Sherlock leaving a scene with a deerstalker shoved onto his head. John laughed at the glare he gave the camera.

The last picture was one of a funeral. Few people were there but the ones who were looked as if their world has ended. The tomes stone they were all huddled around read. ' Sherlock Holmes'

John suddenly felt sick with a strange dejaveau, and closed to book with a slam.

The ghost and the Human stared at each other both not saying a word.

Suddenly Sherlock's phone buzzed. He reached over to grabbed it from the table to break the awkwardness.

It was a text from Mycroft.

Athena has informed me that you sneaked undetected into the archive and stole classified material. –MH

I hardly call a family album classified. Also install ghost-activated alarms next time –SH

We did. You are growing more powerful by the day –MH

Thank you :) –SH

A family album is classified when the government erased someone in it from history. Do you want to continue detective work under your name or not? –MH

If it means So much to you I'll have your precious little family memories back to you in the morning –SH

Does he know? –MH

Sherlock answer me –MH

Yes –SH

It was all my fault I should have been more careful, don't you dare blame John, he has done nothing –SH

You have no idea how much I wish I could punch you –MH

I could guess –SH

I knew I should not have let you room with a non psychic –MH

But it's John Watson. Don't tell me you think its coincidence –SH

No. No I don't –MH

How is he taking it? –MH

Better then I thought, but it will take awhile for him to get used to it –SH

I'm Coming over –MH

No –SH

Sherlock, you dragged him into this mess, the least you can do is explain it, and I need to be there the pick up the pieces… as always. –MH

I'll be there in 30 minutes –MH

Sherlock sighed and told John about the unwanted visitor.

" But it's 2am, I have work in the morning."

John's phone buzzed.

No you don't I arranged a week long paid holiday. –MH

Sherlock closed his eyes and for a moment pretended he was somewhere else. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel the warmth of the sun.

Almost.

* * *

**Oh boy Mycroft is now on board! **

**In the next chapter there will be more flashback craziness, and Mycroft will tell use what his " small roll in the British Government" truly is. **

**the chapter after the next will be when the plot really gets going. ( sorry I need to explain so much. curse you over imaginative mind. *shakes fist*)**

**Thanks soooooooo much! I would never have thought that I would get so many followers! I truly love you guys! **

**quick question would you guys be cool if I through in an OC? If not that's totally fine. **

**PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! THANKS! **

** love RoseBudInk**


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